


Betrayal

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abortion, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Mycroft, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Personal betrayal, that's the worst kind.  An old enemy seeks revenge by ruining Mycroft both professionally and personally.  All hell breaks loose when his alpha discovers the secret he's been hiding since they first bonded.  They say love never fails, but does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive._  
>  This is my first foray into Omega verse. This story deals with abortion so if that is a trigger subject for you, it may be best to skip this work.

Mycroft looked down at the little stick in his hand, the blue plus sign staring back at him. Shit, he thought. How did this happen? Well, he knew how it happened but what he didn’t know was why. He was on birth control and there’d never been a problem before now. His last heat finished just 2 days ago and he’d noticed a slight change in his scent directly after. A little panicked, he decided to pick up the pregnancy test on his way to the Diogenes this morning just to eliminate that as the cause. He and Greg were newly bonded and that could explain the change in scent. It could be that their combined scents were growing stronger as they confirmed their bond. Or it could be pregnancy. There weren’t many other reasons for the change.

He sank back in his chair, still grasping the test in one hand, letting his other fall to rest on his stomach. Shit. This was not good. He just beginning to establish himself as necessary and dangerous man within the British government. It would not do for him to be pregnant. Omegas, and especially pregnant Omegas, were still not well accepted in roles of power and Mycroft had worked too damn hard to let it go now. He couldn’t…no…wouldn’t throw that all away. No, this wouldn’t do at all.

Greg and Mycroft had discussed having children and Greg supported his choice to continue to work. It was obvious that Greg wanted children but had agreed that now was not the best time and that Mycroft should continue on his birth control. The plan was to have one or two heats together to bond and then Mycroft would go back on his heat suppressants. They both had careers, each dangerous in their own respects and having children would require serious adjustments in their current lifestyle, something neither were willing to make right now. Well, more Mycroft than Greg, but Greg had agreed. Besides, they were both still young men and there was plenty of time to have a family. In the future.

So he had two choices. Tell Greg and have the baby or mask his scent until he could abort the fetus. Really it wasn’t a choice, was it? If he was unwilling to give up his career to have a baby, then abortion was the only option. He knew what he had to do. One quick call to his PA and the arrangements were underway. He felt guilty, knowing that Greg would disapprove and likely try to talk him out of it, but he pushed that aside and focused on what needed to be done. This just wasn’t the right time.

oOo

It was a little over a week until his appointment and, with the help of a scent mask and the fact that a serial killer was on the loose in London, he managed to slip by Greg mostly unnoticed. There been a small moment of panic when Mycroft stopped by the Yard to see Greg at his request since he hadn't been home in days, and having been pulled into the DI’s office, Greg began to rut against him and scent him. Greg was a little strange after that and had asked Mycroft if he noticed anything different with his scent, but Mycroft put him off with something about a lack of sleep and too many cups of bad coffee. Greg had accepted that and was none the wiser.


	2. The Stack of Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is revealed to Greg and the confrontation with Mycroft isn't pleasant.

He arrived to the Yard that morning to find a rather large stack of papers on his desk, a stack that he hadn’t left there the previous night. Placing his coffee on the desk, he picked up the first page in the stack, scanned it, noticing Mycroft’s name on it. He picked up a few more, Mycroft’s name on each one, the contents indicating they were medical documents, documents confirming a pregnancy and an abortion, which occurred about 6 months after they’d bonded, right after the second heat they’d shared. 

Crinkling his brow in confusion, Greg tried to absorb the information and figure how this had happened. At first he thought maybe Mycroft had been raped because his first heat had come on suddenly and Greg had not been present at the beginning. He quickly dismissed that idea though because he knew Mycroft’s PA had been with him until Greg had arrived at their flat. Maybe Mycroft was pregnant from another Alpha before he and Greg bonded? But Greg knew that the two heats they’d shared were the first that Mycroft had had in the three years prior. Plus, time frame didn’t work out for either of those scenarios, according to the papers. From what he could tell Mycroft had been just shy of 8 weeks pregnant when he’d had the procedure. There was no way Mycroft had been unfaithful, unless he’d had a heat between the two they’d shared, but again, that just didn’t make sense. Heats normally didn’t happen that close together and such a scenario would have meant that Mycroft had had two heats within an 8-9 week span of time. It was highly unlikely. So what did that mean?

He continued to sift through the papers, coming across a clinic intake form completed in Mycroft’s spindly writing. It asked for the names of the parents, and there, there was the proof of what happened because Greg was listed as the father. So that meant that Mycroft had fallen pregnant during the last heat they shared after they bonded. And Greg never knew.

He tossed the papers back on his desk and sank into his chair, holding his breath in disbelief. They’d discussed - very early in their relationship – having children and Mycroft was adamant that it was not something he wanted right away. He was beginning to seen as vital in his role in the government and didn’t want to disrupt that with a pregnancy. Oh sure, Greg understood but he didn’t really give it a second thought because Mycroft was on birth control and he’d assumed it wouldn’t be an issue. He thought they’d bond, enjoy the heats, and after a few years, come back to the subject of kids.

He let out a sigh, of relief, anger, betrayal, he wasn’t sure. His emotions were scattered. Part of him felt a profound sadness for losing a child he’d never known existed until now. Another part was filled with rage – how dare Mycroft make such a decision without his knowledge or consent? And still another part understood Mycroft’s position, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling the pain and hurt at the betrayal.

Shock, disbelief, and a small bit of pride took root too. It was every Alpha’s innate desire to sire children with their Omega. He’d gotten Mycroft pregnant. But he’d lost that child at the very hands of his own husband, his own Omega, the one person with whom he should have 100% faith in for caring for their offspring.

He wondered if Mycroft had ever intended to tell Greg what happened. Was it Mycroft who left the papers on his desk? It certainly wasn’t Mycroft style and Greg knew full well the man was capable of carrying secrets and telling lies. Hell, that’s mostly what his job consisted of and he’d turned it into a practical art form. No, he thought, this wasn’t Mycroft. But who, who would want to give Greg this information? He hadn’t a clue and right now it didn't matter. He needed to confront Mycroft.

He decided to summon Mycroft to the Yard; maybe that wasn’t the best decision, but he was too upset to trust himself to drive and he’d be damned if he was going to let Mycroft send a car for him. No, it was better to have this out on his turf that Mycroft’s.

So when Mycroft strode into Greg’s office no less than 20 minutes after Greg asked for him to come, he tried his hardest to maintain his composure. MYcroft welcomed himself in, and took in the sight of Greg leaning against the front of his desk, legs crossed in front of his, arms bracing himself on the desk. His head was down and he didn’t acknowledge Mycroft as he came in the room. From his posture, Mycroft knew something was wrong, so he settled himself in a chair facing Greg.

“Greg, what’s wrong?” he began.

Greg reached behind him, grabbed the papers, and shoved them at Mycroft. “You tell me.”

Mycroft took the stack offered him and began skimming through it. As he realized what the papers revealed, he remained calm and stoic and that started to piss Greg off.

Greg stood from the desk and began pacing back and forth, one hand on his hip, and one in his hair. “What the fuck, Mycroft?” His voice was bouncing off the glass windows. “What the fuck were you thinking? How could you have done this? Do I mean nothing to you?” The anger was building and he gestured wildly with his hands, having ceased the pacing, spinning around to face Mycroft. The door to the office was slightly ajar and the blinds were open; the whole of his team could see and hear the commotion.

“Greg, I…”

“Just shut up Mycroft! SHUT UP!” Greg was breathing hard, face red with anger.

Mycroft stood slowly and reached to close the door. “Greg, calm down. We’ll solve nothing by screaming at each other.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want to…”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT! You had an ABORTION Mycroft! An ABORTION without my CONSENT!” Greg was now enraged and in full Alpha mode. Mycroft was his Omega, that was his child, and dammit, he didn’t even have a say so in the whole damn thing.

“Greg…” Mycroft tried again. He just needed a chance to explain things.

“No, Mycroft. Get out! Get out of my fucking office and leave me alone! And when I get home tonight you’d better not be there or I won’t be responsible for what I do!” He opened the door, caught Mycroft by the bicep and shoved him out of the office into the bullpen, slamming the door behind him. Mycroft was momentarily stunned and feeling a bit self-conscious since the bullpen was utterly silent, its occupants staring at him in disbelief. He straightened himself, pulled his waistcoat down, and with his head held high, walked to the lift.


	3. Calling Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft asks Sherlock to find out who sent the papers to Lestrade.

Safely ensconced back at the Diogenes, Mycroft took a sip of the brandy from the cut crystal glass. He set it on the side table, tracing his fingers around the top, letting the burn of the alcohol sink down his throat. He contemplated his situation, entirely unforeseen. This morning, he had a happy, satisfying marriage and now he was the victim of what seemed to be a successful plot to destroy that marriage. So many questions swirled in his mind. Who had sent the papers to Greg and why? Who had the motivation to want to ruin Mycroft’s marriage to Greg? Was their marriage truly ruined?

He’d have to think about that later. The higher priority now was to find out how the papers got to Greg and the purpose behind their delivery. He knew exactly who could help, and picking up his mobile, he dialed his brother. The call was answered on the third ring.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock barked into the phone.

“I need your help on a personal matter, dear brother.” Mycroft frequently asked Sherlock to assist him in matters relating to the government, when it was necessary, but he cringed at the idea of asking for Sherlock’s help with something so personal. There really was no other choice; other than Greg, he trusted no one more than his younger brother. Even so, Sherlock didn’t know about the pregnancy or abortion, and now Mycroft might have to confess it to his brother in order to find out who was behind the release of the documents to Greg. It was embarrassing but necessary.

Sherlock smirked. A personal matter, how interesting. “What have you done to Lestrade now?”

“Greg came into possession of a set of sensitive papers and I need you to find out how.” Mycroft hoped that Sherlock wouldn’t press for more information.

“What kind of sensitive papers?”

“That is not of importance, Sherlock. The fact is he has them, and I need to know who sent them.”

“Oh, contraire, brother dear, I think the contents of the papers is of dire importance, otherwise you wouldn’t bother me with something so trivial. _What did Greg find out about you?_ ” He could barely contain the acid and vitriol in his voice, having gotten one-up on his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes but continued on, not taking the bait. “The papers arrived at his office this morning, presumably. They were hand-delivered to his office, no envelope. _Find out who put them there, Sherlock._ ” And with that, he hung up.

Sherlock put his mobile in his pocket as he crossed the room for his coat and scarf. Time for a trip to the Yard.

oOo

Greg was in his office with Sally, reviewing evidence from a missing person’s case when Sherlock arrived. One look at the man and Greg knew exactly why he’d come. Sighing he asked Sally to leave and shut the door behind her.

“Where are the papers Lestrade?” Cut right to the chase, yeah, that was Sherlock.

“Did Mycroft send you here to collect them?” Greg didn’t move to retrieve the papers, which he’d stuffed in the top drawer of his desk.

“I am not my brother’s errand boy,” Sherlock huffed.

“Then why do you need them? And who says I still have them anyway?”

“They are in the top drawer of your desk. Would you like me to get them or will you hand them over voluntarily?”

Greg sighed. “Fine.” He opened the drawer, retrieved the papers, and shoved them at Sherlock. “Take them. I’ve seen enough of them anyway.”

Sherlock took the offering and began to skim through them. His eyes widened when he realized what they revealed. Looking down at Lestrade, he asked, “What do you know about how these papers ended up on your desk?”

“Nothing. They were here when I arrived this morning.”

“Was anything in your office out of place or disturbed?” Sherlock returned the stack to the desk and began to scan the room.

“No. Everything was as I left it last night.”

“Did you notice anyone odd here yesterday?”

“No, Sherlock, nothing. Listen, just take those back to Mycroft and leave me alone. I’m busy here.” Frustration seeping into his tone, Greg rose from his desk and started towards the door, opening it, hoping for once that Sherlock would take the hint. He was surprised when Sherlock left without protest.


	4. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg returns to the flat he shares with Mycroft and gives some thought to what he learned about his husband that morning.

Greg returned to the flat he shared with Mycroft sometime in early evening. The day had been long and draining, going even further downhill from the morning’s rocky start with Mycroft. He stepped into the foyer and without even thinking called out for him, before realizing that he shouldn’t be there per Greg’s request. His overcoat was not hanging on the rack and his umbrella was missing from the stand, so it seemed that Mycroft had taken Greg at his word. A wave of regret and nauseating anger swept over him again; immediately he realized a headache was forming in the base of his skull and he reached up to rub a hand over his face.

Making his way further in, he threw his own coat over an armchair in the lounge before toeing off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen. He took his time in filling the kettle and setting it to boil, bracing himself with his back to the countertop, taking in deep breaths. He was tired and his thoughts kept reeling around the secret that was revealed to him that day. He’d managed to put it aside and concentrate on work for most of the workday, but here in the silence of the flat, it all came rushing back to him. He was angry, sad, disappointed, curious…a thousand emotions were surging through his body and he felt as if he were being tossed about on a thin raft in a wild sea. The kettle whistled, signaling its completion just as his mobile beeped. Moving to set the kettle aside, he reached in his pocket for his mobile. There was new text from Mycroft.

_Can we talk? MH_

Greg poured the boiling water into his mug and set his tea to seep. He turned to stare out of the window over the sink, taking in the posh street below as he sipped the tea. Men in suits made their way down the streets and into the expensive flats surrounding Greg’s and Mycroft’s. A couple came from the opposite direction, holding hands, and laughing. He saw a mother pushing a toddler in a pram, his mind wondering if they were headed to the park. As he watched her walk along, he felt an ache settle in his stomach; that could be Mycroft or him taking their child for a stroll.

Gulping down the rest of his tea, he spun on his heel and headed down the corridor to their bedroom. It was a large room, with a king bed resplendent in luxurious cotton sheets and a thick down duvet. The furniture was heavy and darkly stained - the beautifully hand-carved wood spoke of opulence and class. The draperies were a dark blue silk, designed to highlight the grand scale of the room, hung almost at the ceiling and pooling onto the floor. Little natural light made its way through them and the room had a dark, mysterious air about it. The closet was almost as large as the main room and on one side hung Mycroft’s bespoke suits, neatly arranged and pressed. Greg’s clothes on the other side were not as fine as Mycroft’s, certainly not bespoke, but then he rarely had need of such fine garments in his chosen profession. Grabbing jeans from the dresser and a t-shirt from the closet, Greg stripped in the middle of the room, tossing his clothes on the floor. He knew Mycroft hated when he did that and right now it felt good to irritate the man even in absentia. Once changed, he went into the en-suite and washed his face and hands.

He thought back to the first few weeks after he had moved in with Mycroft, after they had bonded, and how the lavishness of this place had threatened him. Greg was a simple man, a working man, from an average family who lived just on the outskirts of London. He was not used to an extravagant lifestyle, although his parents had provided everything he needed. He just didn’t need a £200 pair of shoes or a bespoke suit. He had a good pair of trainers, a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, one suit, and food and shelter. It had taken several years to get used to Mycroft’s level of comfort and even though there were aspects he truly learned to enjoy (1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets!), mostly he could live without the finer things in life.

It struck him then, like a lightning bolt, that almost everything in this flat was _Mycroft_. Greg had merely been fit in, like a piece of newly acquired décor. Every piece in the place was hand-picked by Mycroft, placed just so as Mycroft wanted, and replaced quickly and efficiently should it be deemed even _slightly_ less than suitable by Mycroft. It wasn’t that Greg necessarily minded, but now he stopped to wonder if his ability to fit in so well with Mycroft’s _things_ somehow reflected on the type of Alpha Mycroft perceived him to be. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t understand how Mycroft could have made a decision as important as  _aborting their child_ without so much as a mention to Greg. He wasn’t a typical Alpha – sure he still had a strong primal urge to provide for Mycroft, but he was fooling no one; his Omega was a powerful and capable man all on his own. That was one of the traits that Greg loved most about him and one he would never wish to change, but it didn’t mean that it was okay for him to walk all over Greg. He just wished that Mycroft had come to him to discuss it. He thought back on the words he spoke to Mycroft, about giving his consent and he realized Mycroft didn’t need his consent and that wasn’t the real issue anyway. What he wanted was a chance to have worked through it together. What angered him was that Mycroft didn’t _trust him_ , didn’t want to be his partner in all things. And that stung.

Greg made his way back to the lounge and flopped on the couch, picking up the remote and flicking on the telly. He mindlessly switched between channels and then remembered Mycroft’s text. He wasn’t ready to talk even though he wasn’t as angry as he had been that morning; he just needed more time to get his thoughts together. He pulled his mobile from his pocket again and typed out a response.

_Not yet. GL_

The response was almost immediate.

_I understand. I am here when you are ready. MH_

Greg sighed and decided to order take-away. Perhaps some warm food and a few cold beers would help ease his nerves and help give him clarity on how to handle the situation.


	5. On the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begins to investigate.

Sherlock had obtained the CCTV footage from the Yard and surrounding areas from the 12 hours before the papers had been deposited on Greg’s desk. He’d had Mycroft check the papers for fingerprints; of course there were none. There had been no envelope so there were any post marks or other identifying symbols from that to go on. On his way from Greg’s office, he’d ask a few of Lestrade’s team if they’d seen or heard anything unusual the prior day and had gleaned very little information. He’d need to talk to a few more of them though, but that would have to wait for tomorrow.

As he reviewed the footage, there certainly seemed to be nothing unusual about it. He noticed that two of Lestrade’s team had stayed later than the rest, one leaving around 8 pm and the other around 9:45 pm. A cleaning man had come through around 9 pm, dusted, emptied the bins, and swept up. He’d entered Lestrade’s office, leaving his cleaning cart right outside the door, and through the blinds Sherlock could see him go through the same routine; he dusted, picked something up from the floor, took away an empty coffee cup on the desk, and carried the bin to empty, then returned it, closing the door behind him. He spent maybe 5 minutes in the office before he exited and pushed his cart to the next area of the bullpen. The man, and Sherlock was certain it was a man based on his build and his gate, was hardly noticeable. He had a moustache, and his hair was tightly shorn as it didn’t stick out from under the baseball cap he wore. He had on one of sets of cotton overalls that covered his regular clothes and there was a small patch (it looked like a company logo) sewn on the right hand side just above the breast. The footage was too grainy to make out the words, but it would be hard to confirm the company that provided cleaning services for the Yard and match the logo shape and size to the one in the video. He wore boots, laced up to just his ankle, and the overalls seemed to have elastic at the cuffs.

At 9:45 pm, the last of Lestrade’s team headed towards the lifts and the office emptied. For another hour, no one came in or went out of that section of the floor. Around 11 pm though, the cleaning man returned with his cart. He moved a bit more swiftly this time and headed through the bullpen with his cart, stopping once at Sally’s desk to pick up a wrapper and cup he’d missed the first time around. He stopped and looked at each desk, then went back to Lestrade’s office, this time propping the door open with the cart. He’d barely made it in before he was out again and headed to the lifts.

At first it didn’t seem off for the man to make a second round. Perhaps that was his nightly routine to make a first pass then double check before he clocked out. Sherlock made a mental note to speak with him and his supervisor.

He turned his attention to the stack of papers next. They were ordinary in every way, standard medical forms. Mycroft had confirmed that the information contained within was true and that, in fact, he had completed the clinic intake form himself. Therefore the perpetrator did not fake the information and must have had access to it. That wasn’t as impossible as it seemed; there were two sources for the information – Mycroft’s Omega physician and the private abortion clinic. Sherlock knew that Mycroft used physicians and medical services that specialized in treating important patients, one who would buy privacy and secrecy. They had reputations to maintain and lots of money to make protecting the secrets of the upper class in England; it was reasonable to rule out anyone in those offices as the culprit. It made no sense for one of them to want to cut off the hand that fed them, so to speak.

So this had to be personal. But who would be after Mycroft in such a way? Mycroft had been less than forthcoming with information. Given his brother’s powerful position, it could be any numbers of foes come after him, but the usual method of attack would have been assassination or political ruin. Who would want to ruin Mycroft’s marriage? What could be gained from that? Obviously that meant something personal. To Sherlock’s knowledge, Mycroft had never been involved with anyone prior to bonding with Greg; not to say he was a virgin, but he had not been in any serious relationships. So it was likely not from a relationship that ended badly. Sherlock needed more information.

He picked up his mobile from the desk and rang Mycroft.

“Sherlock, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need more information from you. Send a car.”

“On its way.”

oOo

The car deposited Sherlock at the Diogenes club and he quietly made his way to the Stranger’s Room, finding his brother already there, back to the door, pouring brandy into a glass.

“Brandy?”

“No.”

Mycroft made his way to one of the wingback leather chairs and sat down, crossing his legs at the knees. “So, what do you need to know?”

“Start at the beginning. Were you seeing anyone before Greg?” Sherlock asked as he removed his Belfast coat and blue scarf, tossing on the back of a chair at the grand table in the corner of the room. He moved to take the empty wingback facing Mycroft. He was going to be here a while.

Mycroft cleared his throat, took a sip of his brandy after swirling it thoughtfully in his glass, as if it were a crystal ball that held the answers to life’s questions.  It gave him no pleasure to speak of his personal life with his brother. 

“No, there was no one before Gregory. A few trysts over the years, but never more than one night with some nameless person. Gregory and I met and I was immediately enamored of him, although I did not see that clearly at the time.” He smirked. “But you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

A momentary flicker of irritation crossed Sherlock’s face before resuming his naturally disinterested expression and he said nothing.  Trust Mycroft to take a shot and his relationship with John when it was he would needed Sherlock's help.

Mycroft resumed. “Greg and I decided to bond and we shared my first heat after I stopped the suppressants. I was on birth control at the time. We bonded and everything was fine. We decided to share a second heat, to deepen our bond, and after that I would go back on suppressants. The birth control failed…”

“Obviously.” Sherlock interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, well, it failed and I fell pregnant. I suspected it almost right away, but at that stage it really wasn’t an option to have the child. Being newly instated to my position, I made the decision to hide the pregnancy from Greg using a scent mask. I had the abortion within the week and he was none the wiser.” Mycroft continued to stare into his brandy, his face carefully blank but refusing to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock observed his brother – head down, not making eye contact, nervously twirling the liquid in the glass, body stiff otherwise. ‘He feels guilty. How odd.’ Sherlock thought to himself. He’d never known his brother to doubt any of his decisions or feel any remorse later.

“Who else knew about it?”

“No one, other than my doctors and my PA.”

Again, Sherlock ruled out the doctors and medical staff; it just didn’t make sense. His PA didn’t seem like a viable suspect either; she’d worked for Mycroft for 10 years or better and had proven her loyalty. She would have no reason to destroy Mycroft nor was she the kind to gossip. She knew the value of secrecy and discretion.

Sherlock leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands in prayer position, fingertips touching his bottom lip. He was missing something, but what? The papers, the papers…ah yes, the papers! If the doctors and medical staff were not involved, how would one access the records? Electronically seemed unlikely as most doctors’ offices were not automated in that way; had any of the offices reported a break in? He could look into that possibility but there was one other way for someone to obtain the information, given his brother’s proclivities.  One other way that was much more likely.

“Mycroft, did you keep copies in your office?”

“Yes, I believe I did have copies. I would have kept them in the bottom drawer of my desk, locked, of course.” Mycroft looked up, realization dawning.

“Who has access to your office?”

“Anthea and I are the only two who have keys. No one comes in without one of us being present. What you are suggesting is impossible, Sherlock.”

He shook his head. “Not impossible Mycroft. Improbably perhaps, but not impossible.” Sherlock stood and started towards the table for his coat and scarf. “I think we should make a trip to your office.”

Mycroft summoned a car and within minutes they were on their way to Whitehall.

oOo

Mycroft slipped behind his desk and entered a key code on the touchpad on the front of the bottom drawer. The lock clicked and Mycroft opened the drawer, thumbing through the hanging folders in search of the one he was after. “They’re not here; the folder is empty. That’s impossible. No one has access to this office, much less this drawer. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know, but we know where he got the papers from and we know where the papers are now. What remains is to find out how he got them into Lestrade’s office. If I can figure that out, I will be able to find who did this.” Sherlock spun slowly on his heel, taking in the whole office. “Mycroft, think. Is there anyone, anyone at all, who would have the motive to do this? Why target your relationship with Greg? Why not target your political clout?”

“I honestly don’t know Sherlock. I honestly can’t think of anyone who would be interested in doing this. I have many enemies, but they want my power or my influence. Separating me from Gregory would garner neither of those things from me.” Mycroft sat back in his chair, looking down at the desk drawer. “It has to be personal. Someone wants Greg and I apart, but I don’t know who would want such a thing.”

Sherlock huffed and turned to face his brother. “Is there anyone who would be upset with you for being an Omega in this position? It is still not generally acceptable for an Omega to wield so much power.”

“No, I don’t believe so. Very few of my colleagues know of my gender, even fewer know or care about my relationship with Greg, and those that do know don’t care. I’m not the only Omega in such a position.” Besides, Mycroft had been in his position long enough to earn the respect he garnered; his status as an Omega was no longer an issue for those who cared enough to know.

“I’ve gotten all I can from you now. I have a few leads I need to see to. I’ll be in touch.” With that Sherlock strode out of the office, leaving Mycroft to the silence that filled the hall.


	6. Who Is It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock runs through the clues again until he comes up with something that will help identify who is out to get Mycroft.

John took the stairs to 221B two a time, making his way through the open door and calling out for Sherlock. A quiet hum came from the coach where he laid stretched out full length, eyes closed, hands crossed over his stomach.

“What are you doing?” John questioned as he divested himself of his black leather jacket.

“Thinking”, was the short response.

“A case?” John sank into his chair, relieved to have a rest after a long day at the surgery.

“Of sorts, yes.” Sherlock swung his legs over the couch and onto the floor, sitting up in a swift motion. “Mycroft needed my help.”

John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock voluntarily taking a case for Mycroft? He was certain the end of the world was near.

“With what?”

“A set of papers were delivered to Lestrade this morning. Mycroft asked me to find out who sent them.”

Papers? That’s what had Sherlock so excited? John shook his head; he was convinced he’d never understand either of the Holmes brothers.

“Care to elaborate?”

Sherlock stood and moved the window, looking out over Baker Street. “The papers contained…sensitive information about Mycroft, information he did not want Lestrade to know. He wants to know who is behind the release of the information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Mycroft fell pregnant during his second heat with Greg and he aborted the fetus.” Sherlock dipped his head, turning slightly towards John.

“What? Oh my God, what did Greg do?” John was shocked and concerned.

“He got upset and kicked Mycroft out. What do you think?” Sherlock turned back to the window.

“Why would Mycroft keep that from Greg?” John shook his head and rose to go the kitchen for tea. This definitely called for tea. He started to filled the kettle and set out getting out the mugs and tea.

“Do you want children John?”

John almost dropped the mug in his hand. He and Sherlock hadn’t discussed children before; hell, they’d barely discussed bonding. He had, rightly or wrongly, assumed that Sherlock wanted neither, although he did know that Sherlock wanted him. He just wasn’t so sure that their future together included something as tedious as bonding and children. “I…I used to, yeah. Not sure now though.” He paused. “Why do you ask?” Oh God, did Sherlock have something to tell him?

Sherlock turned from the window, turned to his chair and snatched up his violin. Conversation over, it would seem.

“I’m going to need your help with a few leads tomorrow. Are you scheduled at the surgery?”

“No. I’d be glad to help.” The evening passed in relative silence, as the two men finished their tea, John reading the papers and Sherlock playing his violin.

oOo

Sherlock was pacing the flat by the time John emerged from his room the next morning. “Are you ready? We need to get started.”

“Just a minute, Sherlock. I want some coffee.” John stifled a sleepy yawn.

“No time. Get your coat; we’ll get some on the way.” And with that, Sherlock spun towards the stairs, black coat swirling dramatically around him and left John to scramble for his own coat and stumble clumsily down after him.

Traffic was flowing well and they made it to the Yard in record time. John followed Sherlock to Lestrade’s office, ignoring the usual glares of disrespect that followed them. As an Alpha, he should lead Sherlock, but that was not the way their relationship worked. Sherlock wasn’t a typical needy Omega; just like his brother, he was a powerful man in his own right. John’s job was to protect Sherlock, without smothering him. Sometimes easier said than done.

“Lestrade.” Sherlock barged into his office without ceremony.

Greg groaned. What now? “What do you want Sherlock? I’m busy right now. Hi, John.”

“Hi, Greg.”

“Have you spoken to Mycroft since yesterday?” Sherlock dropped himself into one of the chairs in front of Greg’s desk.

“No. We exchanged a few texts but we’ve not spoken. Is something the matter?” Greg sat forward; no matter how angry or upset he might be with Mycroft, if something was wrong with his Omega, he would be there.

“No, there’s isn’t. I met with him yesterday and…it was…obvious to me that he is upset...”

Lestrade cut him off. “Yeah I guess so since his secret it out. What of it, Sherlock?”

“Stop, Lestrade. He is not upset that you found out, although I suspect he would have rather you discovered about the abortion differently.” Sherlock paused. Emotions were not his area but he wanted to tell Greg what he had seen in Mycroft yesterday; true regret and remorse. Whatever the situation between he and Mycroft, he knew that Greg loved his brother and the feeling was returned. It wasn’t right for them to be separated. “He regrets his decision, Greg. You should talk to him. See for yourself.”

John turned to face Sherlock, mouth hanging open. Had Sherlock just tried to play matchmaker between his brother and Lestrade? What was going on with him? John shook his head.

Greg opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it. A moment’s silence passed before Greg replied.

“Thanks for the advice, Sherlock, but I’m not ready.” Greg sighed. “Is there anything else? Made any progress on finding out who gave me the papers?”

“No. The CCTV shows nothing out of the ordinary either in the building or in the area surrounding the Yard. Mycroft can’t think of anyone who would have a personal vendetta against him. The only oddity is that the papers were stolen from Mycroft’s office and delivered to you here.” Sherlock stood, brushing past John. “Please talk to him, Lestrade.” And with that he swept out of the office, John in tow behind him.

As they made their way towards the lift, Sherlock detoured to DC Fulford’s desk. He was the one team member who stayed until almost 10 pm on the night the papers must have been brought into the building.

“DC Fulford, you were here until 9:45 the night before last, correct?”

The man looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. His hair was greying, white streaks peppering the brown hair, despite the fact that he barely looked 30. He wore thick glasses and there was large coffee stain on his tie. “Yes, that’s correct. What of it?” Fulford was among those who thought Sherlock was more a hinderance than a help to their team.

“Did you see the cleaning man that night?” Sherlock leaned forward, placing his hands palm down on the desk.

“I did. Sam, he’s here every night.”

“Every night…every night. So you’ve seen him here before? What were you doing here so late?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking down his nose at the DC.

“Completing some paperwork. Reviewing case notes. The usual. Why?” The man was irritated at being interrupted but gave no other sign that he was nervous with Sherlock’s line of questioning.

“We’re investigating a potential break-in.” John answered.

“Oh, you’re talking about the info left on the DI’s desk, yeah?” John nodded.

“What do you know about Sam, DC Fulford?” Sherlock interjected.

“Not much. He’s been cleaning up around here for as long as I’ve been on the team. We usually greet each other, but nothing more.”

“And what does he look like? Can you describe him?” Sherlock leaned in closer to Fulford.

“Sure, uhm, he’s got greying hair, short cut, usually wears a cap. Moustache. I’d say in his mid- to late 50s?”

“Does he normally wear a uniform?”

“Yes, a sort of overall, white I think.” At this point Fulford looked thoroughly confused. “Look if you are thinking Sam did this, that just seems too far-fetched. What would he have to gain?”

“Thank you for the information, DC Fulford.” Sherlock walked away abruptly, and was almost to the lifts before John caught up.

“What was that about then?” he queried.

“Just confirming the facts…still want that coffee?” He entered the lift, pressing the ground floor button.

oOo

The waitress sat John’s coffee in front of him, giving a wide smile to Sherlock before returning to the serving counter. John just shook his head; it felt like Sherlock got attention from almost every single available person, male or female, but yet was oblivious to it all. He was staring at John so intently, evidently lost in his own thoughts, that John mused he probably didn’t even notice the waitress.

“Any theories?” John asked, taking a sip of coffee.

Sherlock shook his head. “Not yet. I’m missing something.”

“Well, what do we know? The papers were there when Greg arrived, which means they were placed there by someone between 10 pm and 8 am. No one strange or out of place entered the Yard in that time period. And we’re certain that stack of papers is the exact set of papers taken from Mycroft’s office.” John summarized.

Sherlock nodded. What had he missed? Was there some CCTV footage that he’d not reviewed? Certainly not. Mycroft would have made sure to give him every available angle to the building, plus he had access to the security video inside the Yard, and the CCTV footage for a 4 block radius surrounding the place. There was just nothing to be seen on any of it.

“Should we speak to the cleaning crew? Maybe they saw something? Do you think there is a connection there?” John looked down at his coffee before taking another sip.

Sherlock didn’t acknowledge John’s questions, although he heard the comments, he tossed them to the back of him mind to review in a minute; right now he was thinking over what he’d seen in the CCTV footage. His mind fast forwarded to the first time the cleaning man had come through the offices…wait, what did John say? Cleaning crew? Connection…the second sweep through the offices there was something different about the man, something Sherlock hadn't noticed the first time. His hair, the baseball cap, the moustache, the overalls were all identical even down to the lace-up boots…and just like it hit him.

“We need to go. Now.” Sherlock stood, grabbing John by the arm, and raced out of the café, towards Baker Street.

“What the hell, Sherlock?” John hadn’t even finished a good half of his coffee before he found himself standing outside the cafe, Sherlock waving for a cab.

“The cleaning man, Sam. He made two sweeps through the office that night. The first time he his overalls had elastic cuffs on the bottoms of the legs and he wore them above his boots. Obviously he put the overalls on after his shoes otherwise he would have tucked the bottoms into the boots.”

“Okay, but I don’t get what that means. Explain, Sherlock.”

Sherlock let out an exasperated huff. Simpletons. “The second pass, John, the cleaning man was dressed identically except his overalls had no elastic cuffs.” Sherlock waited.

“Which means that it was not Sam who made the second pass.” John filled in slowly.

“Exactly.” Sherlock grinned. It may take John a few minutes to catch up but he always got there.

“But that doesn’t get us any closer to knowing who he is.”

Sherlock sighed again and turned ro face the cab that had just stopped. “Oh but yes it does John, yes it does," he responded as he slid into the cab.


	7. Can We Talk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg talk for the first time since the discovery.

Mycroft rose slowly that morning, having spent the night in the makeshift bedroom adjoining his office. He sat on the edge of the small bed, elbows on his knees, head hung. It hurt - his head, his neck, his entire body. He deemed it more a result of the pain he felt at hurting Gregory than a night spent on an uncomfortable makeshift bed, though that certainly hadn’t helped matters. He felt in his trouser pocket for his mobile, hopeful that Greg had contacted him sometime in the night but was disappointed to learn the only text was from Anthea.

He wanted to speak to Gregory, to explain his actions. More than anything he wanted to know what Greg was going to do – was their marriage over? The very thought of losing his husband was so painful that Mycroft wasn’t sure he would be able to survive if it actually happened. The breaking of a bond was agonizing for both parties and, depending on the circumstances, an Omega could die from the severing. Even if death didn’t occur, it would take extensive counseling and care, maybe even hospital care, to survive. The thought of Greg not wanting him anymore was unbearable.

He’d fallen asleep in his shirt and trousers and both were thoroughly rumpled. He needed a shower and a change of clothes; a close shave wouldn’t hurt him either. He made his way into the adjoining en-suite where he started the shower and stripped out of his wrinkled clothes. The warmth of the water felt delicious against his skin. He washed and shaved quickly and toweled off before heading back into the bedroom.

He had a number of suits ready for him in a small wardrobe there. He didn’t stay overnight at his office often but he found that it was always prudent to have a change or two of clothes ready since one never knew what situation they might be faced with. As he dressed, his mobile chimed several times with text messages and a couple of calls. The day started, so it would seem. He made his way to his desk, called for Anthea, and turned his attention to his work.

oOo

Greg’s office teamed with activity for most of the day. The criminal classes of London were keeping him and his squad busy and he’d barely had a moment to think properly. He hardly remembered driving himself home before he collapsed on the couch in his flat sometime after 9 that night. All he wanted was a cold beer and some sleep. He lay there, motionless, trying to summon enough energy to fetch said beer when his mobile beeped. Sighing, he dug around in his pocket for it and proceeded to fumble it, sending it skittering along the floor and under the coffee table. Getting up to retrieve his mobile, he decided he might as well go to the kitchen and get his beer. The message was from Mycroft. Greg realized he hadn’t even had time to think about Mycroft or anything really.

_Can we talk tonight? MH_

Greg grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped it open. He took a large swig and rubbed a hand down his face. Was he ready to talk to Mycroft? Probably not, but it didn’t seem fair to keep putting off a discussion. If he were honest, he missed his mate and he felt Mycroft’s absence strongly. He knew Mycroft must be feeling the same, maybe even worse, since an Omega’s nature was to please their Alpha. And even if they weren’t the typical Alpha-Omega couple, neither could deny their instincts completely. His response was quick.

“Gregory.”

“Hi. Listen, I don’t want to talk long. I’m tired and I want to go to sleep, but I know I owe you a conversation.” Mycroft waited for Greg to continue. “I’m upset, Mycroft. I’m upset that you didn’t come and talk to me about it. I’m upset that you didn’t trust me enough…”

“It wasn’t about not trusting you, Gregory.” Mycroft interjected. “I trust you completely.”

“I don’t know how you can say you trust me when you couldn’t even tell me you were pregnant!  We’re partners Mycroft, and we should have made that decision together. At the very least, you should have told me.” Greg could feel his pulse quicken and his volume rise.

“Greg…”

“No, Mycroft. I thought I could keep my composure, but I can’t. I’ve had a long day and I’m tired. This wasn’t a good idea. Goodbye, Mycroft.” He hung up before Mycroft could give an answer and threw his mobile on the couch. What he needed was another beer, a hot shower, and sleep.


	8. Henry Barr

Sherlock and John arrived at Whitehall early the next morning to find Mycroft asleep in one of the large wingback chairs, his mobile clutched tightly in his hand. The knock on the door caused him to stir and his face flushed as he realized the position they’d caught him in.

“Sherlock. John. What can I do for you so early this morning?” He started as he slowly rose from the chair, straightening his waistcoat and running a hand through his hair.

“I need you to look at the surveillance video from the Yard.” Sherlock spoke as he sat in front of Mycroft’s laptop and started up the video. Both John and Mycroft move to stand behind him where they could see the screen. “Do you know this man?” Sherlock had pulled up the grainy image of the second cleaning man seen at the Yard that night.

“A cleaning man? How would I know him?”

“It’s a disguise. Look, Mycroft! Do you know him?” Sherlock questioned, annoyance evident in his tone.

Mycroft leaned in closer and indicated to Sherlock to zoom in on the man’s face. The footage was grainy at best, but Mycroft studied the image carefully anyway. Something seemed familiar about the man, but he couldn’t quite place him.

“Well?”

Mycroft back away from Sherlock and walked to the large floor-to-ceiling windows to the left of the room. He put his hands in pockets and closed his eyes, letting the image of the man’s face play about in his head. Where did Mycroft know this man from? This man would not wear a hat and Mycroft realized that he wouldn’t normally have a moustache either. Take away those two features and you have…

“Henry Barr. His name is Henry Barr. He was an assistant for a member of my office and he sometimes filled in for Anthea if she had to be away. He was let go for misconduct.” Mycroft turned to face Sherlock while spouting off the information. “He would have had access to my office.  He was the one to take the papers and deliver them to Greg’s office.”

“Yes. But why, Mycroft? Why would he feel the need to take retaliate against you instead of his supervisor?” Sherlock rose and met Mycroft half-way across the room.

“You said he worked for you if Anthea was away. Did something happen between you?” John queried.

“No, of course not.  He was here for less than 6 months. Quite unfortunate, really. He’d passed all the security checks and was competent. He could have had a promising future.”

John spoke up. “So why was he dismissed, Mycroft?”

“A grand mix-up, of sorts. He managed to be careless with some rather sensitive information and broke the trust of several higher-ups by trying to cover up his sloppiness. Had he confessed his original transgression, the situation could have been easily repaired and he would have been spared an embarrassing release.”

Sherlock hummed. “Were you the one who discovered this mix-up?”

“No. It was Anthea who brought it to Henry’s superior's attention. I had nothing to do with the situation, although I agreed with his termination.”

Sherlock took Mycroft’s place in the chair and brought his hands under his chin, obviously thinking. It was John who continued. “So why target you?”

Mycroft grinned at John.  "Why indeed, John."

“This is personal, Mycroft. What else are you not telling us?”

“There is nothing else, brother. I’ve told you all I know.” At that moment, Anthea appeared at the door.

“Sir, you have a meeting.”

Slipping on his suit jacket, Mycroft turned to John and Sherlock. “Well, if you two will excuse me, duty calls. Let me know what you find out, Sherlock.” He nodded and left the room.

“So what now, Sherlock?”

“We find Henry Barr.”


	9. Do You Even Need Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's a little hothead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for so many short chapters!

Greg’s day had been hell. The pit that had started to build in his stomach from the day before was weighing him down heavily and he was irritable as hell. He growled at just about everyone who came with a 2 foot radius of him and had snapped at Donovan so hard he thought he’d made her cry. It was late in the afternoon when he decided to throw in the towel and just go home. Before he left, he sent a text to Mycroft.

_Come home. I want to talk. GL_

Better to face it than to let it fester into an open sore.

Mycroft arrived to their flat some 45 minutes later, coming in to find Greg sprawled out on the couch, finishing his third beer.

“Gregory, I came as quickly as I could. I wasn’t expecting you to summon me here.” Mycroft remained standing, swirling his umbrella in his hands, looking at the floor.

“Neither was I, honestly.” Greg turned his head to try to look over at Mycroft, but found the angle impossible; he shifted into a sitting position, gesturing for Mycroft to sit in the chair in beside him. Mycroft shrugged off his overcoat and tossed it on the back of the chair before sinking into its comfort. He crossed his hands in his lap and waited, unsure if he should speak or wait for Greg. He opted for the latter.

It was Greg who broke the silence. “Listen, Mycroft, I’m still upset”, he started. “I’m still upset you didn’t trust me, and before you interrupt me, that’s how it feels to me. But I’m more upset that you don’t see us as partners. That you didn’t see a pregnancy and abortion as something we should have faced together. You are not an island, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg hung his head and ran his hands through his hair.

Mycroft took three slow breaths, determined to be patient and give Greg a chance to continue. When it seemed he was done for the moment, Mycroft attempted to explain. “Gregory, we are partners and that is not why I didn’t tell you. There were several reasons why. We were newly bonded and had decided to wait on having children. You know both of us were fairly new to our respective and it was best for us to be free to establish ourselves. I was only trying to spare you.”

Greg looked up at Mycroft, his face bearing a look of surprise and incredulousness. “Seriously? Mycroft, I understand the reasons why you had an abortion and I’m not sure I entirely disagree with your decision. But spare me? I don’t think it was me you were trying to spare. You couldn’t stand the thought of not being in control of the situation and not telling me was the best way to ensure you had complete control.”

“No, that’s not…”

A sudden rage filled Greg and he leapt to his feet, standing in front of Mycroft, shaking a fist at him. “Don’t give me that shit, Mycroft! I know you! You didn’t need me then and maybe you don’t need me now. You can’t even manage an ‘I’m sorry’ for what you did! Maybe a little contrition would go a long way.”

“Greg, I…” Greg stomped away from the chair and snatched up his coat. “Just shut up! This was a bad idea. You don’t need me so I’m leaving. You can stay here.”

Mycroft could only watch numbly as Greg stormed out of the flat.


	10. The Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little background info on Henry Barr.

Henry Barr lived in a shabby little flat on the east side of London. If you’d asked him, he’d been unduly released from his position, the infraction of which he’d been accused being so minor. It was all unfair, really. And now he was without a creditable reference and a large gap on his CV; finding a good job had proven difficult.

He enjoyed his position with the government. It was fascinating to watch the men dance about, pulling the strings of others like puppets in a play, twisting and manipulating scenarios to their desires. He admired Mycroft Holmes more than most; the man had a natural talent for the kind of subversive work required for the position. On the occasions he’d worked with Mycroft, he was struck by the keen observational skills the man displayed. Combined with his ability to influence the emotions of others, he made a formidable opponent. Perhaps what captivated Henry the most about Mycroft was the power he could wield despite his status as an Omega. Henry himself was a Beta but there was just something about Mycroft Holmes that made him burn with desire. So it didn’t help when he found himself tossed out of his lucrative position as a PA and out of Mycroft’s sphere of influence.

Since his dismissal from the PA position, he worked for a family owned bakery, making pastries and deliveries and occasionally moonlighted on a cleaning crew. On occasion he found himself back in Whitehall delivering goods for meetings and the like; every trip made revived his anger at his situation. It was Mycroft’s PA, after all, that had drawn attention to his mistake and he was sure she had done that on the advice of Mr. Holmes himself. In addition, Mycroft had rebutted his advances, in fact bonding and marrying some inferior policeman, further humiliating Henry. All roads lead back to Mycroft being the source of his sour place in life.

It was a delivery trip to Whitehall that Henry began to hatch a plan for revenge. He remembered that Mycroft had been pregnant very earlier on in his marriage to the DI, and he’d heard Mycroft and Anthea discuss the abortion he’d had. From the conversations he’d overheard, he was sure that Mycroft’s husband was unaware; that fact was confirmed for him when he found the documentation of it hidden in one of Mycroft’s desk drawers. Oh what he wouldn’t give to destroy Mycroft, rip apart his whole world by ending his marriage and his career too. If he could gain access to the drawer – if the keypad code he remembered were unchanged –he could steal the papers and deliver them to the DI (DI Lestrade, wasn’t it?). Let the fallout happen from there. Personal life destroyed; now how to bring down a man as powerful as one Mr Mycroft Holmes? That would take a bit more time and thought.

It took several weeks to find the right opening to make his way to Mycroft’s office in Whitehall and try his hand at the keycode. To his surprise (and twisted delight), it remained unchanged from when he was employed. And to think he’d once thought Mycroft Holmes had no faults; clearly the failure to change his passcodes on a regular basis was a dangerous one.

Delivering the documentation to NSY had to be done quickly after obtaining them or he knew he would risk the discovery of the missing papers and jeopardize his whole plan. So he took an extra shift with the cleaning company at the Yard the night after the office break-in. It was the perfect set-up. A quick search upon entering the building told him exactly what floor to find DI Lestrade’s office and from there it was just a matter of placing the papers. The whole thing couldn’t have been more perfect if he tried.

The first part of Henry’s plan was now set in motion; time to think on how to destroy the career of one Mr Holmes. Mycroft was very careful in his dealings; he rarely, if ever, put his name directly to any activities of his office. Everything was subterfuge and deception in Mycroft’s world. It might be virtually impossible for Henry to bring Mycroft to his knees through any activities of his office. No, what Henry needed to do was to think more globally; he’d not be able to convince Mycroft’s superiors of his incompetence or his betrayal.  What else could he use against that man? What did he care about other than his damn placement in the British government?  Oh, yes! The answer was staring Henry in the face: DI Lestrade.

With Part One of Henry’s plan executed without flaw, it was time to work out the details of Part Two – the professional destruction of one Mr Mycroft Holmes.

oOo

John sighed as they entered the lift. This was their third trip to the Yard in as many days. He shouldn’t feel so exasperated since he had managed to convince Sherlock, for once, to let the police do their job and apprehend Henry Barr instead of the two of them going half-cocked on their own. What little Sherlock had been able to find out about the man didn’t really give any indication of how he might react if cornered and John didn’t want to take a chance on finding out. John had reasoned with Sherlock that it might be therapeutic for Greg to be the one to nab the guy. He wasn’t 100% sure that Sherlock had bought the argument but he agreed anyway, much to John’s surprise.

He was also surprised to find the DI’s office empty that afternoon.

Sally stuck her head in and spoke to John. “He went home early.”

“Thanks, Sally. Was he coming back?”

“Didn’t look like it. He had a rough one. Thought it might be best to head out and get some rest.”

“Alright.” John turned to Sherlock. “I’ll text him and let him know what we’ve found so far.”

_We found out brought the papers. Henry Barr. Could use a police escort to interview him. JW_

oOo

Greg sat in a dingy corner pub, downing his third, no fourth, pint. He was starting to calm though he wasn’t sure his anger had abated enough to go home. He had no clue where he was going to spend the night, most likely in his office, but it wouldn’t back at their flat. Mycroft just didn’t get it. And Greg wasn’t sure he ever would. His mood blackened even more and he ordered a 5th pint.

The waitress sat it in front of him as his mobile pinged, snapping him out of his sullen thoughts. It was a message from John; Sherlock had figured out who the culprit was. Well, great. Greg certainly wasn’t in any mood to give a damn about Henry Barr. Let Sherlock deal with it.

_Not interested. GL_

_Come on, Greg. We need your help on this one. Texting you his address. JW_

_Not coming. Sherlock can take care of it. Not a police matter. GL_

_I’m not telling him that! We’ll wait until you are ready to come with us. JW_

Hell will freeze over, he thought. As angry as he was at Mycroft, he supposed a part of him was also angry at this Henry Barr bloke too for even bringing the damn papers to him. He could have gone his whole life not knowing what Mycroft had done if it had spared him the pain but here he sat, angry at his Omega, upset about a baby he didn’t know even existed until a couple of days ago, feeling betrayed, and worst of all, not sure what to do about his marriage. Severing their bond would be excruciating and he knew it. He might get through it without much aftercare, but for an Omega a severed bond could be tantamount to a death sentence. Was he angry enough to risk Mycroft to such a fate?

God, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to break his bond with Mycroft. The time they’d spent together had been the best of his life so far. Sure there were ups and downs, as there are in any marriage, but he couldn’t imagine his life without Mycroft. He was angry, of course, but he really did understand the reasoning behind what Mycroft had done. He thought back to the hurtful words he’d hurled at his husband... _You wanted control…you don’t even need me…_ His heart felt so heavy from their weight, knowing they were spoken in anger and not in truth.

Besides, if he’d known all of this back then, what would he have wanted anyway? He realized he’d probably have agreed with Mycroft. So he really had a decision to make here – stay angry and continue to be harsh to his Omega or forgive him and move on. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the choice seemed clear. With the last pint, the alcohol-induced fuzziness began to settle in, and thoughts of making up with Mycroft began swirling through his head. He thought again about Henry Barr, the bastard.  He briefly wondered what reason the man could have for sending those documents to him?

His remembered his mobile had beeped again, the message from John with Barr’s address.  He'd contact Sherlock and John tomorrow and make plans to go over to Barr's flat.  With that, he gathered himself up, deciding to head back to the flat and to Mycroft.


	11. What Else?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock surprised John and Anthea sheds more light on what happened with Henry Barr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rewriting the ending to this story. My apologies if you have bookmarked it or commented on it previously. For those who have, the changes from the original story begin in Chapter 10.

John followed Sherlock up the 17 stairs to the sitting room of 221B. As Sherlock divested himself of his scarf and coat, John headed to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. He heard Sherlock flop down on the coach and heard the tap-tap-tap of his fingers flying over the keys of John’s laptop. John had long ago given up trying to keep Sherlock from using it; he couldn’t be arsed to get up and retrieve his own and it wasn’t as if John had anything on it that Sherlock didn’t know about anyway.

A few quiet minutes ticked by as John prepared the tea. He stepped into the lounge and placed Sherlock’s tea on the coffee table then sunk down in his own comfortable chair, grabbing up a newspaper as he went. The typing stopped and John felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle as though he were being watched, which he knew he probably was. Without so much as a glance in Sherlock’s direction he asked, “What is it then?”

“What?” was the short reply.

“Why are you staring at me? I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Thinking.”

“You usually don’t stare at me when you think. Something bothering you?”

“You didn’t answer my question, John.”

John just chuckled. It was more often than not that he joined Sherlock in the middle of a conversation that was occurring only in his head. “And what question would that be, Sherlock? You know I can’t actually hear you if I’m not in the flat.”

“Do you want children, John?”

John set his paper down and turned to face Sherlock. His face was its usually blank slate, but John could see something in his eyes; curiosity, fear, desire maybe? He thought carefully about his answer and with a slight sigh, answered. “I’ve always thought I would get married and have a family, Sherlock. But I’m quite happy with my life the way it is now. Might not be what I originally planned for myself, but it’s quite nice all the same.”

Sherlock just stared at him, expression remaining carefully blank. John could almost see the gears turning in that massive brain. John continued to sit in silence, watching and waiting for Sherlock to either respond or give him an indication the conversation was over.

Quietly, almost too quietly for the hurricane that is Sherlock Holmes, he spoke, his head lowered, “I’ve thought about having children. It would be…fascinating…to have…a…to be able to raise a child.” There was pregnant pause and John was sure his jaw had actually hit the floor. He was speechless, but it didn’t matter as Sherlock continued. “With the right Alpha, of course.” Sherlock raised his head and caught John’s eyes.

John was taken aback then flooded with excitement and nervousness and anxiety.  He was positive those emotions were betrayed in his voice as he spoke. “Sherlock, are you asking me what I think you are asking me?”

“Yes, John, I think I am.”

Stunned, John open and closed his mouth several times but before he could even think of the words to say, Sherlock’s mobile rang. “Sherlock Holmes.”

There was a brief pause before Anthea spoke. “Sherlock, you wanted to speak with me regarding Henry Barr?”

“Yes, I need you tell me everything you know about Henry and his interactions with Mycroft.”

“I’m sure Mycroft has already given you the information you require. What else can I provide?”

Oh, Mycroft had trained her well. Avoid and deflect. Sherlock huffed. “Office gossip, Anthea. You know Mycroft doesn’t concern himself with such trivia.”

“Very well. Mr Barr was fired due to misconduct.”

“Yes, Mycroft told us all of that. Please get on with it. Was Henry angry or upset with Mycroft in any way?”

It was Anthea’s turn to huff. Mycroft’s little brother could learn a thing or two about patience from the elder Holmes. “Henry blamed Mycroft for his dismissal, even though he had nothing to do with it. It was I who discovered his error and brought it to his superior’s attention, but Henry believed that because of that, Mycroft had a hand in his termination.”

“Yes, yes, what else, Anthea? There has to be something else.”

“It was well known that Henry was attracted to Mycroft. On more than one occasion, he spoke of asking Mr Holmes on a date, but I don’t believe Mycroft even noticed. Even if he did, he would never have agreed.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as the realization dawned. “Did Henry do anything overt that Mycroft might have noticed?”

“A few times, yes. He would bring Mycroft coffee or a pastry, but nothing more that I’m aware of.”

Oh, very interesting. Sherlock’s mind was alight with this new information. He gave a quick thank you before ringing off.

“Anthea then?” John inquired.

“Obviously.” Sherlock stood, his hands raised in prayer position at his chin, and began to pace the flat. “Apparently Henry had a little ‘crush’ on Mycroft.” A quick snort in disgust and he resumed. “Furthermore, Henry blames Mycroft for his dismissal.”

“Ok, so that explains why he took the papers and gave them to Greg.”

“Yes, but it also suggests that’s not all he has planned.” Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to face John. “His romantic interest in Mycroft would explain why he would want to ruin his marriage, but he believes Mycroft ruined his career as well. Would he stop at only destroying Mycroft’s personal life?”

Resting his head on his hand and laying the paper in his lap, John threw out a thought, watching for Sherlock’s reaction. “He’d want to ruin Mycroft’s career as he ruined Barr’s.”

“Yes! Exactly! But how? How would he do that? Mycroft’s too smart to be taken down by someone the likes of Henry Barr.”

“By using something else then? Something else that Mycroft cares about?”  John suggested.

“The only thing Mycroft cares about other than his position and Greg is his diet.  What’s Henry going to do?  Starve him to death?  Unlikely.”  Sherlock smiled at his own wit.

John smiled too. Sherlock was relentless in his teasing about Mycroft’s weight. It did prove to be amusing at times. “You said he cares about his position and Greg. We know Henry can’t use Mycroft’s position to bring him down, so can he somehow use Greg?”

Sherlock hesitated and then gasped, throwing his hands in the air as he is wont to do when an epiphany strikes. “Oh, John, you are brilliant! That’s exactly what he’ll do. But how can he use Greg against Mycroft beyond what he’s already done?”


	12. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets pissed, Mycroft gets contemplative and gratuitous make-up sex ensues.

Mycroft was surprised when he heard the tumblers in the lock of the front door click open. He listened carefully, immediately recognizing the shuffling and breathing that belonged to his husband. He shifted a bit in his seat, not sure what to expect. Gregory had been clear he wasn’t coming home tonight but here he was. The last several hours spent in the armchair before the fire, wine in hand, hadn’t really produced much in the way of an actionable plan to win Gregory back to him. The words Greg had spoken to him… _a little contrition would go a long way_ …replayed in his mind again and again. It was true that he didn’t feel remorse for the decision he’d made, but he did have regret for how he handled the situation. But he couldn’t change it now, so all that was left to do was to give a heartfelt apology and ask for forgiveness, something that really wasn’t in Mycroft’s nature. _Maybe not_ , he mused, _but you need Gregory and you want to save your marriage, so grovel if you have to._ He huffed in amusement at himself.

Entering the lounge slowly, Gregory stood in front of the fireplace, his back to Mycroft. The cold London air had cleared his head a bit still he wasn’t sure where to start. The air was heavy with silence but was interrupted as he took a breath to speak.

“Gregory, I’m…sorry. I truly am. I don’t regret the decision I made, but I do regret the way I handled things. I should have told you and we should have faced it together.” Setting his glass down, Mycroft stood and took a small step forward, hoping he sounded as sincere as he felt.

Greg continued to gaze into the fire, watching the flames lick up and over one another. Behind him, he heard Mycroft shuffle on his feet, so he turned. God, that face, lit by the fire, it was beautiful. The eyes were soft and there was a sad longing in them, the mouth, slightly downturned, the edges creased in worry; the sincerity of the apology was evident in its features. Greg grinned a little and returned to staring at the fire. “It’s ironic, I suppose, but I support your decision. I agree that it was the right one given everything. But don’t ever cut me out of something like that again, Mycroft.” Greg turned. “I’m not sure I can forgive a second time.”

Mycroft hung his head and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Do you then? Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, I do, but I’m still angry. That will just take time to get over.” Stepping forward, he reached out, grasping Mycroft’s wrists, and pulled his hands from his pockets to take them in his own. “I love you, you prat.”

At that he smiled and leaned forward, catching Mycroft’s mouth in a soft kiss. Greg took a small step forward, pressing his body tightly against Mycroft’s and sliding his hands up his arms. Their lips met again, this time the kiss was passionate and heady; Greg’s tongue slid across Mycroft’s bottom lip and he felt Mycroft gasp a little at the sensation before opening his mouth to accept the intrusion. Greg rubbed his hardening erection against Mycroft’s thigh as they continued kissing. He could feel Mycroft stiffen underneath him and he pulled back a little, breaking the connection with a slight gasp for air. “Bedroom”, he commanded, turning Mycroft around and pushing him forward with Greg just a step behind. On the way he removed his clothes, leaving a trail in the hall behind him.

In the bedroom, he positioned Mycroft just at the edge of the bed, still standing, full clothed. Greg’s cock jutted out in front of him, at a slight angle, the tip red and swollen and almost touching Mycroft’s waistcoat. “You wear too many damn clothes”, he swore under his breath, as he ripped open the waistcoat and stripped it from Mycroft in one swift motion.

But before he could reach for the buttons of Mycroft’s exquisitely tailored shirt, his lover sunk to his knees before him and began to lick the pre-cum from his cock. Greg hissed, “Oh god!” just as Mycroft began to lick the length of his penis, then took it in his mouth. With one hand at the base of Greg’s cock, he reached down with the other and grabbed Greg’s sac, rolling his balls gently between his fingers, humming at Greg’s moans. At that Greg grabbed his hair and held his head still as he fucked Mycroft’s face with his head thrown back in reckless abandon.

Suddenly Greg pulled out of Mycroft’s mouth with a wet pop and yanked him up by the hair. He ripped open the ridiculously expensive shirt, buttons flying across the room, and he tore into Mycroft’s trousers, wrenching them and his pants down to his knees. Almost violently he spun Mycroft around and shoved him on the bed, on his hands and knees, arse in the air, before climbing up behind him. He spit in his hand and rubbed it against Mycroft’s pink hole then pressed the head of his cock to his entrance. With one smooth motion he thrust himself inside, causing Mycroft to yell out, and then he stilled, giving the man a minute to adjust from the hard intrusion. He felt Mycroft push back a little and Greg took that as his cue to begin pounding in and out of him as hard as he could, setting a brutal pace and gripping his lover’s hips like a vice. Sounds of harsh breathing and Greg’s balls slapping obscenely against Mycroft’s arse filled the room, along with small moans and gasps from each man.

Greg felt Mycroft reach down and grasp his own cock, tugging at it in rhythm with his thrusts. He could tell by the tightening of Mycroft’s hole that the other man was close and he sped up. His own thrusts became increasingly erratic as Mycroft rubbed himself to completion and as his cum shot out onto the bed, his hole tightened even more. Moaning at the pressure and tightness, Greg gave another quick thrust before collapsing forward, filling his husband with his cum and wailing out in pleasure, his hips giving quick, short thrusts as he spilled his seed. His body full and abused, Mycroft’s knees gave way and he sprawled face first onto the bed, Greg still on top of him and inside him. The pleasure gave way to burning as Greg pulled out and rolled to one side.

Mycroft wiggled out of his pants and trousers, rolling onto his side to face Greg and placing his hand over Greg’s heart. Greg looked at him, “That was incredible.”

Mycroft grinned and chuckled. “So it was.”

“Come here.” Greg reached out the arm closest to Mycroft and signaled for him to lie across him, with his head in the crook of his arm. He hummed at the tenderness of the moment, silently thanking whatever deity had allowed him the privilege of having Gregory Lestrade in his life.

After a few silent moments, Mycroft began to shift, the stickiness of the semen becoming uncomfortable. He begrudgingly broke out of Greg’s hold and into the ensuite to clean up. When he returned a few minutes later, the duvet thrown carelessly from the bed, he found Greg curled on his side, fast asleep. He climbed in beside him and pressed a sweet kiss to Greg’s back before wrapping himself around the man from behind and falling into a blissful sleep himself.

oOo

Morning found them on opposite sides of the bed; Greg sprawled out with a leg hanging off the side.  He awoke with a start and a headache before realizing he was in his own bed and Mycroft was just the other side.  He sat up slowly trying to ease the pressure on his head but it was no use.  Mycroft shifted and slowly opened his eyes to see Gregory rubbing at his temples.

“Headache then?”

Greg nodded the immediately regretted doing so, the pounding in his head worsening momentarily.  “Yeah, but nothing some meds can’t fix.”  He rose and disappeared into the bathroom to get the pills and a glass of water.  Mycroft heard the shower start as Greg called out, “Sherlock found Henry Barr.  He and John want me to go with them to his flat today.”

“Is that so?”  Mycroft joined Greg in the bathroom just as he was getting into the shower.

“John texted me his address last night.  I guess once I get sorted here, I’ll head over to Barker Street to pick them up.”

Mycroft huffed in response as he left the bathroom.  He headed down the hall towards the kitchen for coffee, stepping over Greg’s discarded clothing as he went.  He stopped, taking a look at the clothing when an idea came to him.  He picked up Greg’s trousers, fishing in the pocket for his mobile then forwarded the text from John to his own mobile.  He put the phone back before discarding the pants on the floor.

He would get to Barr’s flat first.  There were a few things he and Henry should discuss before the good Inspector’s visit.


	13. Hello, Mr Barr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to Barr's flat to discuss things and the situation quickly goes out of his control.

Greg arrived at Baker Street to find John and Sherlock in what he thought was the middle of a rather nasty row.  He could hear the muffled shouts outside the flat and the pounding in his head worsened as the noise level increased with each step he took to the main room of the flat.

“Dammit, Sherlock!”  Bang, crash, crash, bang…what the hell was going on in there?  He pushed the man door open to find two sets of eyes staring up at him from the floor, John on top of a pants-only clad Sherlock, who happened to be pinned to the floor.  Greg cleared his throat and looked away as John scrambled to stand and straighten his clothes, which was a task easier said than done as his shirt was unbuttoned and his jeans unzipped.  Sherlock, for his part, just sat up, looking rather unbothered by the whole ordeal.  John zipped his jeans and found Sherlock’s dressing gown, tossing it to him with a stern look that said _put it on you twat._

“Excuse me, uhm, sorry to interrupt.” Lestrade said by way of greeting.  “If I’ve come at a bad time, I can, uhm, come back later.”

“Oh, Lestrade, don’t be so insufferable.  The mood is ruined anyway.”  Sherlock managed to sound like a pouting two year old, the effect magnified by flopping himself gracefully on the couch.

John rolled his eyes and addressed him.  “It’s fine, Greg.  Come in.  Tea?”

“Uhm, yeah.”  As John moved into the kitchen, Greg sat down in Sherlock’s chair.  “You found Barr then?”

“Obviously.  John texted you his address last night, did he not?”

John joined them with the tea, setting a mug down in front of Sherlock then handing one to Greg before returning to the kitchen for his own.

“Alright, gimme.  Tell me what you know.”

At the invitation, Sherlock sat up, leaning forward, face brightening.  He loved showing off.  “Henry Barr worked for one of Mycroft’s peers.  He was terminated for misconduct and blames Mycroft.  In addition, it appears he had a _crush_ on your dear husband, but was rebuked, and is taking that personally.  He’s bent on revenge, intent on punishing Mycroft both personally and professionally.  Somehow he managed to get the documents from Mycroft’s office, deliver them to you with the hope that you would be angry enough to leave Mycroft or at the very least to drive a strong wedge between the two of you, thereby ruining his personal life.”  Sherlock paused and gave Lestrade a once over.  “But I can see that didn’t happen.”

By this time, John had joined them and shook his head, issuing a warning to Sherlock to be nice.  “Sherlock.”

“Oh, please, John.  It’s obvious they’ve _made up._ ”

Lestrade just chuckled.  “It’s fine, John.  Sherlock’s right; we have made up and I’m glad for it.”

 “Sherlock doesn’t think he’ll stop there.”

Greg turned to look at Sherlock, raising his eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.  “You said he blames Mycroft for being fired?”

“Yes, and I believe that he intends to ruin Mycroft professionally as well.  And I think he will use you somehow to do that.”  Sherlock crinkled his brow out of frustration for not having figured that part out yet.

“How’s he going to do that?

It was John who answered.  “We’re not sure.  That’s why we wanted you to go with us to his flat today, take away any chance he has to carry out whatever plans he may have.”

“We best not waste any more time.”  He stood and headed to the bedroom to change as John began to clear away the tea service.

oOo

Mycroft watched London pass by through the darkened windows of his car.  He’d left within five minutes of Gregory’s departure; he calculated he had at least an hour before Greg would arrive at Henry’s with John and Sherlock in tow.  He didn’t need an hour, five minutes would do to convey his message, but it was best not to be rushed through things like this.

The car stopped outside a set of run-down flats that looked as though most should be abandoned.  The black Maserati was sorely out of place in this neighborhood and sure to draw attention.  The back door opened for Mycroft to exit.

“Mr Holmes?”  The driver stood, awaiting instruction.

“Don’t wait.  I will text you when I am ready for you to return.”

“Yes, Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft strode confidently to the door of Henry’s flat, umbrella hanging in the crook of his arm.  The door opened after two buzzes of the ringer, revealing the haggard face of one Henry Barr.  A flash of surprise crossed his features before settling into some sort of manic grin as he greeted Mycroft. 

“Mr Holmes, I didn’t expect to see you.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”  He stepped back and opened the door wider, outstretching an arm gesturing for Mycroft to come in.

Mycroft stepped into the small flat.  The furnishings were shabby, second-hand at best.  He stepped directly into the kitchen, which had a small set of cupboards and a single sink plus an apartment-size refrigerator.  There was only room for a small two-seat dinette to be crammed into a corner to allow the back door to the garden to open.

Through the door from the kitchen, he could make out the lounge where a small television sat atop a battered side table facing a three-cushion couch.  A coffee table, which almost looked as if one of the sides had been chewed on by a rather ferocious dog, was the only other decoration in the room.  Heavy draps hung at the one window, blocking any light that might have tried to peak through.  There were stairs between the two rooms, and Mycroft knew the upstairs would have the same layout, with the addition of a tiny bathroom with probably only a shower and no tub.

All-in-all, it was a depressing place to be and Mycroft felt a small twinge of sympathy for the conditions Barr had found himself in.  The feeling flittered past just as quickly as it came as Mycroft took the umbrella from his arm and placed the tip onto the linoleum floor.  Without further ceremony, Mycroft drove straight to the point.

“It has come to my attention that you came into possession of a set of sensitive documents of mine, Mr Barr, and that you delivered them to DI Lestrade, _my husband.”_   Mycroft twirled the umbrella on its tip as he spoke, lifting it at the end of his sentence to Barr’s chest to emphasize his point.

“Might I suggest that was a terribly unwise action on your behalf, Henry?”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft took a step forward, crooking his head slightly to the side and lowered his voice to a threatening growl.  “Oh, I’m quite certain you do.  I would recommend that you abandon whatever plans you may have to continue on this path before this ends badly.  _For you._ ”

Barr didn’t flinch at the implication of Mycroft’s words, nor did he back down.  He stared straight into Mycroft’s eyes and answered.  “I doubt that, Mr Holmes.”

“Do you?  You see, Henry, DI Lestrade is on his way here as we speak, to arrest you, I suppose for the theft of the papers and the obvious break-in to my office.  You will get off lightly, I imagine, but if, upon your release, you insistent on pursuing this further, it will not be the DI or the Met you will deal with, but me.  And I’m sure you remember very well what I’m capable of, don’t you?”

Mycroft snorted and stepped back, turning his back to Barr momentarily, contemplating the state of his umbrella by holding it out in front of him.  “I do hope I’ve made myself clear.”  There was some shuffling behind him and he turned, finding himself with a gun barrel pointed directly at his chest.

“Well then, Mr Holmes, you have saved me quite the trouble of executing the second part of my plan as I had envisioned it.  I was going to come to you for our little tete-a-tete, but you’ve rather gone and jumped ahead, haven’t you?  Now, please, have a seat and let’s wait for Mr Lestrade together, shall we?”  Barr circled Mycroft, jerking the gun towards one of the chairs at the small dinette table, indicating Mycroft should sit.

Mycroft crinkled his nose at the thought of having to spend any more time in the shabby little flat Barr called home.  He didn’t have a choice really, with a gun pointed at him in the hands of a maniac.  So he stepped forward and took his place in the chair, crossing his legs at the knees, his umbrella tip on the floor.

“So what is your plan then, Mr Barr?”

_Oh, that Mycroft Holmes_ , Barr thought, _so calm under pressure, dignity still intact no matter the circumstance.  So damned superior, trying to maintain control of the situation.  Not this time, I think._

Henry tutted.  “Don’t want to spoil the surprise, now do we?”

A few awkward moments passed before Mycroft broke the silence again.  “Tell me why you are doing this?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I assume you blame me for your… _situation_ ”, he said, looking around in disdain.

Henry chuckled at that.  “Fair assumption.  But if it weren’t for the likes of you, Mr Holmes, I’d still be rather gainfully employed.”

Mycroft stared at his umbrella that he was twirling on the floor.  “I did not have you fired.”

“Is that so?  I suppose it was just coincidence that it was your PA who discovered my little mistake, yes?”  Henry took a small step forward and waved the gun, as if to emphasize his point.  “But that is not the only reason I sought you out, Mr Holmes.”

At that, Mycroft looked up, eyebrows raised in question.  There was more?

“Did you not notice the way I pined after you, Mr Holmes?  The special attention I paid you, all the compliments, and going out of my way to impress you?”  Mycroft could see the anger building behind Henry’s eyes.  He had, in fact, noticed Henry’s attempts to garner special notice, but he’d purposefully ignored it.  Not only was Henry a subordinate, but he was a Beta and Mycroft had no interest in Betas; besides, it wasn’t long after Henry had joined the staff that he’d begun to get serious with Gregory.

“Ah, I can see from your face that you did notice.  Just as I thought.  You noticed and you _rejected_ me.”

Mycroft stayed silent; after all, there really was no appropriate retort to the truth.  Henry continued.

“So you see, _Mycroft_ , I decided it was only fair for your husband to learn the truth about your little situation so you could feel the pain of rejection as I had.  As for ruining my career, I rather fancied doing the same to yours, although we both know that is not going to be accomplished in the most traditional sense.  Being rather skilled in your endeavors, it would be almost impossible to trace any one act directly back to you.  So I’m going to rather have to create one, using your husband, of course.  How utterly convenient that you’ve summoned him here for me.  Saves me the trouble.”  From somewhere outside, the sound of cars doors echoed through the flat.  “Ah, I believe he’s arrived.”  Henry moved to take a place behind Mycroft, pressing the barrel of the gun to the back of his head, pressing forward slightly.

“Now, do as I say and you won’t be hurt.  Put the umbrella down.”  A _clack_ sounded from the umbrella hitting the floor.  “Good.  Hands crossed, on your lap.  Good.  Now don’t move.”

A loud knock at the door startled Mycroft.  “Henry Barr?  This is DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard.  Open up, please.”

“DI Lestrade, do come in.  The door is unlocked and I rather think you’ll like the surprise I have waiting for you.”

Outside the door, Greg turned to look at John and Sherlock in confusion.  Sherlock flicked his hand at the door, gesturing for Greg to open it.  Greg signaled back for them to take a position at either side of the door.  Taking his place to one side of the door, John drew his gun and waited for Greg.

Slowly the door creaked open.  Greg peered around the edge where he could see Mycroft sitting in a well-worn chair, hands in his lap, head slightly bent forward.  _What the hell was Mycroft doing here?_   Behind him stood a young man, decently dressed with well-groomed blonde hair.  He was calm even as he pressed a gun to the back of Mycroft’s head.

“Mr Lestrade, please do come in.  We have quite a bit to chat about, I should think.  Bring along your guests.”

“Barr, what are you doing?”  Greg took a slow step forward as behind him Sherlock and John stepped in from their places at either side of the door.  John kept his gun raised, leveled at Henry’s chest.

“The plan is quite simple really.  I shoot you and Mycroft gets blamed for your murder.  Slightly complicated by the presence of your two friends here, but I’m sure I can find a way to silence them as well.”  He paused.  “What has your dear husband told you of me, hmm?  Did he tell you that he cost me my job?  Look around, Inspector.  That decision really was not kind to me.”  Henry waved a hand in the air.

Sherlock interrupted.  “That wasn’t Mycroft’s decision, Barr.”

Henry hesitated slightly.  He hadn’t expected the other men to respond to him.  This one was tall, with dark hair and outfitted in what was clearly a bespoke suit.  He had Mycroft’s eyes.  “The younger Mr Holmes.  My pleasure doubles today.”

Huffing, Sherlock muttered, “I doubt it.  No one with any sanity gets pleasure from Mycroft’s company.”

“Sherlock.”  John said from his side.  He didn’t have to throw him a look to let him know to keep his pie hole shut.  “Now’s not really the time.”

Greg interrupted.  “Mycroft, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Gregory.  Mr Barr has been the most accommodating host today.”

Henry laughed at that.  “Mr Holmes, you have been the most entertaining guest.  But enough with the pleasantries.  Let’s get down to business, shall we?”  He shoved the gun hard against the back of Mycroft’s head, causing the older man to lean further forward.  With his free hand, he grabbed Mycroft’s hair and pulled him back, causing a difficult arch to settle in his middle.

At the movement, John took a quick step forward, gun steady, but Greg held out his hand.

“Yes, now, this is the game we play today.  You see, Mr Lestrade, your dear husband not only cost me my job but he rebuffed my romantic interest.  That is why I sent you those papers.”  Henry pulled again on Mycroft’s hair.  “So now what’s left for me to do is to ruin Holmes’ career as he did mine and we’ll be even.  I thought a nice murder charge would be a creative way to do so.  Sounds fair, don’t you think?”

“Listen Henry, I know you’re angry but don’t take this further.  You’re already in enough trouble.  Don’t make it worse, yeah?”  Greg inched closer, arms outstretched in a show of submission to the man with a gun.  To his surprise, Henry remained calm rather than growing in agitation as many criminals tend to do if they feel crowded, outnumbered, and scared.

Henry leaned forward slightly, almost whispering, “Look around.  It really can’t get much worse.  For me, I mean.  Now for you, on the other hand, things are about to get very bad.  Very bad, indeed.”

The next moment happened in a blur.  Henry pushed Mycroft forward from the chair, sending him sprawling into the floor.  He raised his gun to Greg, taking advantage of the man’s surprise at the sudden movement, and fired, not once but twice.  Greg collapsed and Sherlock fell to his side, Mycroft crawling on hands and knees to his husband.  Before Barr could get a third shot off, John stepped forward, leveling his gun, and fired, the bullet exploding into the Barr’s chest before he dropped.

John threw his gun to the floor, kneeling beside Greg’s prone form, feeling for a pulse. Blood was everywhere and at first John couldn’t make out the entrance wound. The pulse was faint and thready but there. “He’s alive, but barely.”  He looked around at Sherlock, "Are you okay?"

"Bullet grazed my arm.  Fine."

"Mycroft?"

Beside him, Mycroft began to sob, physically hurting as he felt his husband’s life slowly slip away. He knew in that instance that if Greg didn’t survive, neither would he. The pain was excruciating and would only deepen with such a loss. He collapsed into his younger brother, seeking comfort.

"He's fine, John."  Sherlock, for his part, fumbled for his mobile, texting Anthea to send an ambulance and a car.

John quickly found the entrance wound in Greg’s chest, almost at the center, but just below the heart. Grabbing tea towels that were close at hand, he applied as much pressure as he could, thankful that Greg wasn’t conscious to endure the agony of it. He was able to slow the bleeding but not stop it completely. His pulse remained faint and John silently wondered if Greg would survive the ambulance ride to hospital.

Mycroft twisted out of Sherlock’s hold and grabbed Greg’s hand.  He pressed his lips to his cheek, his tears mixing with the blood. He touched his forehead to his husband’s and began whispering. “I’m sorry, Gregory, for everything.  Please stay with me.  Don’t go.  It can’t end like this. I need you. We need each other. Please Gregory, please, please.”


	14. Cardiac Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Greg survive?

With Sherlock and Mycroft bundled in the back of the black car, John watched the ambulance leave before climbing in and giving the driver instructions to follow behind closely.

Mycroft’s condition was deteriorating rapidly and twice during the trip he stiffened and howled out in agony. Sherlock did his best to comfort him, but there was little he could do to; Mycroft needed his Alpha.  John could only pray that Greg would survive; he didn't want to imagine what might happen otherwise.

They arrived just minutes behind the ambulance at the A&E, Greg having already been rushed into a surgery suite and out of sight. John caught one the first responders, quietly asking about Greg’s condition during the trip there. Greg had gone into cardiac arrest twice, which explained Mycroft’s behavior in the car. Sherlock had managed to bring him into a family waiting room and John could still hear his wailing and sobbing. He stopped a nurse and made arrangements for Mycroft to be sedated; it was the best way to help him get through the many hours they would have to wait for word on Greg.

Once settled into the private room where Mycroft was now resting, John turned to Sherlock. “Did Barr really think that plan was going to work?”

Shuffling foot-to-foot, Sherlock mumbled, “There’s no reasoning with someone who is insane, John.”

John nodded. “I suppose.”  He looked down to his feet.  “I’m glad the bastard is dead.”

Sherlock took in the sight of his brother laying prone on the hospital gurney, his sobbing ceased, but his face still twisted in torment.  “Hmm”, was the reply.

John closed the gap between himself and Sherlock, threading his arms around the taller man’s waist.  “How’s your arm?”  As the first responders had focused on Greg, John had taken care of where the bullet had grazed Sherlock’s upper arm.

“Fine.”  He smiled and leaned forward, placing a gently kiss to John’s lips.

They spent the next several hours in Mycroft’s room, Sherlock lost deep in thought and John asleep in one of the chairs, the constant tick of the wall clock interrupting the heavy silence in the room. There was a light knock at the door that shook John out of his slumber and caused Sherlock to look up.

An older man, dressed in scrubs, entered the room. He looked every bit as exhausted as either John or Sherlock felt.

“Are you Mr Lestrade’s family?”

It was Sherlock who answered. “I’m his brother-in-law. This is my brother, Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade's husband.” He gestured towards the bed.

“I see. Mr Holmes, is it?” He indicated for them to sit down as he took a chair himself and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He looked squarely at Sherlock. “I'm Dr Stuart.  I’m afraid the news is not good. Mr Lestrade’s wound is severe and, although we were able to remove the bullet and repair most of the damage, he lost a significant amount of blood. I’m sure you are aware that he went into cardiac arrest on the way here and he suffered a another arrest on the table.”

“Is he…” John asked softly, dreading the answer.

The doctor shook his head.  “We were able to revive him, but there may be residual damage to his heart. It’s too early to say. With the blood loss and the cardiac arrest, it is touch and go. The next 24 hours are critical. He is in recovery now and will be moved to critical care room within the next hour. He is on life support to reduce the stress on his body. I’ll have one of the nurses let you know when he’s been moved so you can visit.” The doctor stood, shook hands with John then turned to where Mycroft lay.

“They are bonded, you said?” Sherlock nodded.

“I'll see that Mr Holmes is moved with Mr Lestrade. In the event that the worst happens, we’ll be better able to provide him the care he needs to survive.”  With a quick nod of the head, the doctor took his leave.

John stared in disbelief at Sherlock, whose face was paler than John recalled ever seeing.  It was going to be a long night.


	15. Epilogue

_~4 months later_

“I said I’m fine, Mycroft! Stop fussing!” This was probably the fourth or fifth time Greg tried to call of Mycroft’s incessant hovering. For God’s sake, he was in the kitchen fixing himself some coffee and a slice of toast; he wasn’t going to keel over from exhaustion at the effort. Today was his first day back to work, although he knew it would still be months before he was up to snuff to go back full bore. “I’m only going in for a few hours. It will be fine!”

“You are still recovering, Gregory. I don’t want you overexerting yourself. You’ll set yourself back.” Mycroft buzzed around the kitchen once more, trying to take over the toast making and grabbing Greg’s mug to set it on the table, before trying to guide Greg to the chair.

Greg watched Mycroft go back and forth, looking for all the world like a panicking bird, and, chuckling to himself, reached out gently, resting his hand on Mycroft’s arm. “Stop. I’m fine.”

Mycroft caught himself and stilled. Gregory, his Gregory, stood before him, alive and mostly well. The sweet smile on his face made Mycroft pause and he began to feel a sadness rise from his belly. Suddenly he was overcome with the feeling that things could have all gone wrong and he would never have had another moment like this with the man he loved. Tears started to gather in the corners of his eyes and he quickly looked to the floor, turning his head slightly, trying to hide the emotion from his bond mate.

Greg was too quick, however, and recognized right away that Mycroft’s emotions had gotten the better of him. He gently put a hand to Mycroft’s chin and lifted his head, meeting his eyes. “It’s fine, Myc. We’re fine.” He stepped forward and pulled his husband into a protective hug, both cherishing the comfort of the other for a long minute.

“I know.” Mycroft pulled back a little, wiping his tears away as he stared into Greg’s eyes. “It’s just…all this…everything that happened…”

Greg smiled. “I know.” He sat in the chair and gestured for Mycroft to hand him the toast. “But we have right now and the future, so let’s not spend it thinking about the past, yeah?” Nodding, Mycroft took a seat across the table from Greg.

“Did you mean what you told me last night?”

“I did, yes. I’m ready. At my next heat, I want to start a family.” _More than anything_ , Mycroft thought.

Greg’s face lit up, a huge grin spreading across his face. “I’m not sure I’ll be ready, physically, by your next heat, but when I am, yes. By God, yes, Myc.” If possible, the grin got bigger.

Mycroft found himself returning the smile, hope fluttering in his heart where the sadness once took root.  He reached for Greg’s hand and squeezed, cherishing the warmth of the life that flowed through his body.  Gratitude for another chance with Gregory surged through him and he leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on the other’s cheek, nuzzling his nose against the soft flesh there.  “ _I love you_ ”, he whispered.


End file.
